


Back Breaking from a Heavy Heart

by whereismygarden



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cure for back tension is either a massage or sex, according to Rush. Young doubts he'll ever get either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Breaking from a Heavy Heart

                Young swears he can feel his muscles locking down over his bones every day. No matter how much he stretches or does push-ups or runs in the “mornings,” his neck and shoulders and back always ache with tension. Maybe it’s a result of being held that way for three years in stasis, and he will have this agony for the rest of his life. He runs a hand over his lower back, trying to work the knots out.

                “Backache?” Rush’s voice comes from behind and to his side; the man’s walked onto the bridge without enough noise to alert Young.

                “All the time,” he said, standing up. Rush sat down, tucking his notebook into his pocket.

                “I know the feeling,” he says, rotating his shoulder. Young hears an audible crack. Christ. “Only the couples get to avoid it.”

                “Um, why’s that?” Rush turns and gives him an unimpressed look, mouth flat.

                “Well, they not only have sex, which releases tension, they also presumably can give each other a back massage.”

                That did make sense. He would just about kill for a backrub: well, that or a change of clothes. He’s also tired of getting off alone in his quarters, to the point that he doesn’t bother very often anymore. It’s kind of hard to come up with anything good to jerk off to these days, though the idea of a back massage might be a good idea. He bites back an ironic smile as Rush narrows his eyes.

                “What’s so funny?”

                “The idea of getting either again in my life,” he replies. Rush gives him a loaded smile and turns back to the screen in front of him. Though, there’s a thought. He could very well offer to work out someone else’s shoulders and start a quid pro quo massage barter system on Destiny. For all the single people, and Camile. At the rate everyone seems to be pairing up, though, it will probably just be him, Rush, and Camile. He’s stopped being aggressive about relationships between the soldiers onboard: he’s made it clear he disapproves of rank gaps in pairs, but he can’t justify punishing anyone, not when it’s been so long.

                “Come here,” Rush says, and he walks back from where he’s watching the stars and looks at Rush’s screen, which is pushed to the side again. “Not that.” He scoots forward slightly in the command chair. “Sit down,” he taps imperiously on Young’s arm and jabs his finger at the floor.

                “Excuse me?” he says, glancing at the floor as if there will be anything but deck plating there. Rush taps his foot, annoyed, and tosses his head.

                “Do you want me to do something about your back or what?” he says, and Young doesn’t get it for a second. The idea of it is slightly awkward, isn’t it, especially after what Rush just said about couples, but the prospect of having less pain is too tempting. He sits down, trying not to lean back against Rush’s legs. Rush pokes at his shoulders for a second. “Take off your jacket, there’s no point in making this harder than it needs to be.” Young unzips his jacket and drapes it over his knees, trying not to feel odd in just his black undershirt.

                Rush pokes another few times, rubs slightly as though searching for something, and then digs in. Young holds back a groan as his thumbs work over the joins of his neck and shoulder, either side of his spine, and over his shoulderblades.

                “Ugh, that feels amazing,” he said, dropping his head forward. Rush’s hands are strong and leave the exquisite, burning ache that’s so much better than the dull pain of tension behind. He’s thorough, too, and when Young grunts ‘lower’ or ‘in a little’ he moves accordingly.

                He can’t quite hold back a low groan when Rush does something to his upper rhomboid muscles and his spine feels like it’s been unglued. Rush snorts.

                “That sounded obscene,” he says disdainfully.

                “I don’t care,” Young says, which at this point in time, is completely true. He can’t imagine it not staying true, either, because he feels amazing. Rush works halfway down his back and at his upper arms before settling back and prodding Young with his shoe.

                “There, feel better?” He doesn’t want to stand, but yes, he feels better. He rolls his shoulders and they don’t make any noise. That won’t last, but he’s sleepy and feels half melted from the number Rush has done on his back.

                “God, yes. Thank you. I owe you.” Not now, though: he wants to rest while his muscles aren’t tensed and his brain is so blissfully calm. He falls into bed and is asleep in seconds.

~

                He remembers that he owes Rush, though, and finds him in the mess the next day, hunched over his bowl. He sits down next to him, stirring his own mix of protein mix, sprinkled with some chopped up bits of flavored purple potato.

                “I owe you,” he reminds him. Rush looks at him sidelong, deliberating.

                “To what in particular are you referring?” he asks, scraping some of the paste into his spoon. Young sighs.

                “I was offering you a massage,” he says. Rush makes a face as he swallows his spoonful.

                “I wouldn’t advise that in the mess,” he replies. Young valiantly resists walking away in annoyance. Rush is almost certainly doing this to piss him off, in some kind of fucked up attempt to preserve his self-image as a misanthrope.

                “I’ll come to your quarters later then,” he says, and goes to another table, where Barnes and Eli’s conversation becomes less animated as sits down. Well. They potentially get together, don’t they, according to the alternate timeline. He’s probably interrupted an important conversation, though he thought he heard mention of Star Trek as he approached, so maybe not.

~

                Rush doesn’t send him on his way when Young knocks on his door late that night, just calls to come in. He’s barefoot and in his white shirt only, bent over a laptop. He lifts an eyebrow at Young.

                “It’s you,” he says.

                “Get a lot of visitors?” Young asks wryly. Rush jerks his head, motioning him to come in. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking a little different with his green vest and t-shirt gone. Young waits while he closes the laptop and shifts to turn his back to him.

                “You didn’t have to come here and do this,” he points out, and Young walks to the edge of his bed, putting his hands on his shoulders. They’re tense and warm through his clothes. He digs his thumbs into the iron-hard lines of his trapezius, and starts as gently as he can. For a few minutes, he can tell Rush is in genuine pain: he’s thin as a child, and Young can feel himself pushing on bone. Then, he relaxes somewhat, letting out a little moan and letting his head loll forward.

                Young works at the big knots in his shoulders, feeling hot all over. He’s not sure why the room suddenly feels so warm, but he’s starting to sweat, and he can feel every twitch and every shift in Rush’s breathing in his hands. He cracks his knuckles and wiggles his fingers for a moment, trying to shake the buzz under his skin. As soon as he touches Rush again, though, it’s back, and he realizes what it is. God, it’s been a long time since he’s been attracted to another person, and Rush wouldn’t be his first choice, so he tries to ignore the feeling. It’s just happening because it’s been so long since he touched another person.

                Now that he’s aware of it, though, he can’t stop noticing how fine Rush’s grey-brown hair is and how soft it must be, or how appealing his quiet, intermittent noises are as Young moves his hands. He’s got more muscle than he had at first on Destiny, despite that most people have lost weight over the years. His hands are held loosely in his lap, fingers twitching slightly, and Young has to take in a breath, suddenly.

                He presses his thumbs especially hard into either side of Rush’s spine, working upwards, and he shivers and groans. Young feels his cock stir in his pants and wills it to calm down. He has, at least, new fodder for when he’s alone in his quarters late at night, though jerking off to the thought of crew members is dangerous territory. _This_ is dangerous territory, working the heels of his hands into Rush’s back and shoulders and ignoring his growing hard-on as best as he can. He’s unwilling to stop, though, so he doesn’t, until Rush is curled forward, every inch of him looking loose and content: pretty much the polar opposite of how Young is feeling, actually.

                He steps back, trying to get into the shadow and farther from Rush, but he turns around rather quickly, eyes lazy, and then sharpens up. He’s definitely caught an eyeful of Young’s crotch, but if he’s disturbed or disgusted, he doesn’t show it, for which Young is grateful. He just tilts his head at Young.

                “Evening, Colonel.”

                Young can’t stop himself from pulling his cock from his pants the second he gets inside his quarters, going to his knees and gasping into the sleeve of his jacket as he strokes himself. He can imagine Rush doing this, hand careful and clinical and precise at first as he learns Young, and then fast and hard when he realizes that’s what he wants, oh God, he wants Rush’s rough, inquisitive fingers on his cock, his hasty spit rubbing over his skin—he comes a second after that thought, balls drawing up and head knocking back into his door. He opens his eyes to find that he’s only made a small bit of a mess on the leg of his pants; most of it went onto the floor. He cleans everything up, and falls into bed almost as satisfied as the night before.

~

                Rush doesn’t mention the incident again, and Young doesn’t offer or ask for a backrub. He doesn’t jerk off again either, kind of afraid that he won’t be able to not think about Rush. He won’t go so far as to actively avoid the man, but he doesn’t linger for conversation at all. It’s over a week later when Rush snaps at him about it. They’ve been talking with Camile, and she leaves the conference room, presumably to use the bathroom. This meeting has been dragging for over an hour.

                Young carefully looks at the door, the wall to his right, and the ceiling, trying to avoid looking at Rush.

                “For God’s sake,” Rush bites out. “I’m hardly damaged from seeing you get an erection.” Young snaps his gaze over to the man, who looks as unimpressed as ever, and annoyed with it. “I’m not your sweetheart when you were fifteen.”

                “Right,” Young mutters, wondering if he’s going to have to say more. Explain himself. Rush snorts and shakes his hair back, and his annoyance seems to dissolve away as Camile reenters the room. Not now, at least.

                He tries to act normally, now, and he does, but the craving to touch Rush is there, now, lingering like a high school crush. It’s damned annoying, and he can’t seem to shake it. He barely even likes the man, but something about him caught Young and won’t let him go, to the point that he notices the hint of swagger Rush walks with, and the way he doesn’t let his beard get too long, though he won’t shave it. But he never says a thing about it, and hopes it doesn’t seem like he’s staring.

~

                Rush notices the staring, and they’re alone on the bridge, like the first day Young let Rush touch him, when he brings it up.

                “You’re not very subtle,” he says, getting up from his station and coming to stand in front of Young, who’s in the command chair and trying his best to be professional.

                “About what?” he asks, afraid. Rush smirks at him.

                “Colonel, believe it or not, you’re not the first person to ever be attracted to me. I can feel your eyes burning a hole into my head while you sit there brooding.” He tosses his head back, crosses his arms, but that, Young noticed lately, is what he does when he feels slightly nervous.

                He, however, is probably more nervous than Rush, and he blinks for a few seconds, trying to find his voice.

                “I’ll do better from now on,” he says, wanting to end the conversation. He feels like he’s about to be humiliated in some way, as if Rush is going to act like a school bully who says, ‘I know you like me but I _don’t_ like you, loser!’ Instead, Rush uncrosses his arms, puts his hands on the arms of Young’s chair, and leans forward, getting in his face. Young stares at his dark, knowing eyes, feeling them look right through him.

                “Don’t panic,” Rush says, voice deeper than usual, amused and rough. His hands slide over Young’s, warm and gentle. He leans in close, tilts his head a little, and kisses Young.

                For a moment, he can’t do much besides let Rush nip softly at his lips, too shocked to register much beyond the brush of his beard and the firm dryness of his lips. He gets it together in a few seconds, though, kisses Rush back: it turns into something more intense, a slow tease of tongue and teeth and his hands coming up to cup Rush’s face.

                “Oh,” he says, breaking it off for a second. Rush’s eyes are very serious, searching his face, so he smiles at him. “Did you think I didn’t want that?”

                “I thought you might not want to want it,” Rush clarifies, and Young leans his head forward to rest it on Rush’s convenient forearm for a second, then kisses his wrist.

                “I’ve had a few weeks to think about it,” he says. Rush puts his arm around Young’s neck and shoulders, all but climbs into his lap, and gives him a smile and a challenging look.

                “Want to get back to work on that tension problem?” He nudges between Young’s legs with his knee, and then grabs his cock through his pants. Young pushes him back a little, shocked.

                “Not on the bridge, God,” he says, and Rush runs his hand down Young’s thigh, to his knee, squeezing. Young feels his breath hitch and lust gather in his gut just as Rush pulls away.

                “Sure,” he says. “I’ll come to your quarters then.” His words mirror what Young said to him the night of the incident, and Young wants to be aggravated, but is just amused at the self-satisfied cast to Rush’s saunter off the bridge.

~

                Rush comes into his quarters without knocking, but Young’s expecting him. He hovers at the edge of the room for a second, then comes forward slowly to where Young’s stood up from his desk. Rush looks confident, his tongue darting out to touch his top lip, and Young has to walk towards him, take his face in his hands and kiss him. Rush kisses back, sort of, biting at his jaw and lips, and Young grins, because he should have guessed that Rush likes to bite. Rush breaks the kiss, licks his lips.

                “What do you want?” he asks, tilting his head a little. Young swallows, thinks of all the possible answers to that, and the one that falls out of his mouth is, “you.”

                “Not exactly what I meant,” Rush says, but grabs him and basically shoves him backwards, to the bed. Young lets Rush push him down, enjoying the heady thrill of the other man’s hands moving over his chest and shoulders, moving his legs apart so Rush can put one knee between them. Rush seems to know exactly what he wants, because he climbs on top of Young, so they touch from chest to ankles, and grabs his wrists, holding them to the bed. He gives Young little, quick kisses on the lips, occasionally sliding into something longer and deeper, until Young is groaning underneath him and hard, and Rush’s erection is noticeable against his hip too.

                It makes his head spin, the feeling of Rush’s beard scraping his chin and Rush’s tongue in his mouth and Rush’s teeth on his throat, and that last one drags a curse out of him. Rush adds tongue to his attentions to his neck, and he breaks Rush’s grip on his arms, grabs his hips, and grinds them together. The friction is exquisite, and Rush gasps and moves against him and then bites hard on his collarbone.

                “God, yeah,” Young says, and sits them up. Rush scrambles to do something with his legs as they detangle, and ends up kneeling between Young’s. He seems to like this, and Young likes it, dragging him close by nudging him with his feet. “Here, come on,” he tugs at Rush’s shirts, pulls off his own, and runs his hands and eyes down Rush’s thin frame. He’s pale and skinny and noticeably smaller than him, now that they’re so close, but his skin is fiery under Young’s hands and he wants him desperately. Then Rush puts his hand on Young’s stomach, drags it down to hook his fingers into the waistband of his pants, and he can’t keep his thoughts together.

                He’s got Rush’s jeans off and his underwear pushed to the side to expose his stiff cock, and somehow Rush undressed him completely, though he only remembers a lot of his hands going everywhere. Rush pushes him onto his back again, spitting into his palm and bringing his hand up to slide over Young’s erection. He moans through his teeth, and his hips jerk up, and Rush gets on top of him, pressing their cocks together and rubbing over both with his hand. God, that’s good, the feeling of Rush’s hand and his erection rubbing against Young’s, hot and wet but not quite slick enough yet. He adds his own hand, tracing over the head of Rush’s cock with a light touch, and Rush moans, louder than before. Young loops his arm around Rush’s shoulders, drawing him close so they’re touching everywhere, and kisses him.

                “Yes,” he pants into Young’s mouth, legs shifting against his. Then they’re rubbing up against each other, spit and precome on skin making obscene noises and Rush’s quiet moans high and fast in his ear. He rolls them over, and then Rush pushes back, and it’s fucking good, the shoving and the wet friction and the feeling of Rush’s fine, soft hair in his hands, and the messy kissing. Young groans, moves again so that Rush is on his back now, and speeds up, thrusting against Rush’s stomach and his own hand, gasping as Rush runs two wet fingers over the head of his erection, tantalizingly light.

                “Yes?” he asks, and Young’s not one hundred percent sure what he means, but he can’t do anything except keep moving. Rush bats his hand aside, cups his balls, and presses a little harder on the tip of Young’s cock. “Next time I want to fuck you,” he says, voice raw, and Young comes so hard he can’t see anything for a moment, hips stuttering, moaning into Rush’s neck.

                “God,” he says, and moves so that it’s easy for Rush to thrust against the mess between them, kissing him senseless while he grabs Young’s upper arms painfully hard and gasps into his mouth. He sees Rush’s face change when he comes, movement turning erratic, and he runs his hand along his cheek and jaw. His chest and head are warm and dizzy with the intimacy of it, and he kisses Rush slowly when he stops panting.

                He half expects the awkwardness to settle back in, now that they’ve both come and are lying here pressed together, but Rush leans into him for a moment, then pulls away. He wrinkles his nose at the mess between them, then climbs out of bed, shedding his underwear all the way, and comes back with the rag Young’s been using as a washcloth. The water is, of course, cold, but Rush is quick and careful and he feels better afterwards.

                It’s pretty late, so he puts an arm over Rush’s back and says, “You might as well stay.” Rush sighs and shifts, rolling his eyes as if he can see Young’s intention through his explanation. But he just pulls the covers over both of them, turns onto his side, and closes his eyes. It’s obvious to Young that he’s not asleep, but he lets him lie, understanding his desire to not talk about it. He turns the lights off and gets back into bed, letting his legs brush against Rush’s. He’s worn out from the day and the sex and languid from the orgasm, and sleep finds him quickly.

                He wakes up twice in the night, once to Rush’s bony elbow shoving him back to his side of the bed, and once because Rush has rolled over and taken the comforter with him. He tugs it back, accidentally wakes Rush up, and gets an embarrassed glare for his trouble. He smiles back uncertainly, and Rush relinquishes the blanket sheepishly. As he drifts off again, he thinks he feels Rush inch a little closer, but he can’t be certain. The idea is nice, though, and he remembers it in the morning with a small burst of affection blooming in his chest.

                This is good, and he gets up to dress, leaving Rush still passed out in his bed. There’s less than the usual amount of stiffness in his back and neck, though it’s not completely gone. Maybe all the couples are onto something.

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from a line from the Fall Out Boy song "I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth," which the title alone sounds kind of Young/Rush to me. y/n?


End file.
